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ryn Oct 2014
Found myself at a dental clinic...
He was the best there was.
Unorthodox and eccentric,
But to the specialised craft, he was boss.

Ran through the bits and bobs
Like any normally would.
The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays.
Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood.

Strange was what happened next...
Specialist and I then stood facing each other.
He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage.
Held them there over a few breaths before it was over.

Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man.
Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature.
Talks of politics and odd human behaviours...
What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter.

I then realised that along with his decorated credentials,
Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant.
Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide,
But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant.

Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness!
I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought.
I wanted him to just stop talking!
I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!"

He was stunned momentarily...
I suppose he hadn't seen that coming.
Then his features softened to a blank
I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring.

With an exasperated sigh of resignation,
He uttered his next words swollen with regret
"There's no need...for you only have four years left."
It dawned upon me that my timer has been set.

*And then I woke up...
Had this dream several nights ago. I believe that in a lifetime, we'd probably get at least three dreams that would be etched in our minds forever. So far I've had two... The other is in my earlier writes.
See "Mysterious".
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/831521/mysterious/
ryn Oct 2014
Red
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.

Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.

No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.

Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.

Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.

Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.

It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...

But I see red...
:(
patty m Mar 2016
Dropping flower petals into the water
voices merge, lifting in song and prayer,
I wish that I could join them,
instead I whisper my prayer
very quietly, hoping that God
might hear me.

Brief deceptive gleam of sun on water
that catches the eye,
now hollow as dried driftwood, light as foam,
everything conspires against me even the weather;
Tumultuous sky, the squally wind squeals through wires, rattling flags.
The sea is glaucous with strange phosphorescence;
I sit watching rabbit tail grass flicker and bob palely in the wind,
the insects hum and the grass whispers.
Adrift in tides the
sand beneath my feet
spills centuries of debris,
shells, bones, pieces of fossilized matter,
fragments of unimaginable time.
Fire flies often dance here and the crickets sing in
warm grassy hollows

Somehow we co-exist, men exerting surly independence
trying to climb above the wretchedness.  
I take a loving look backwards
at this seaside town, and the boatloads of wood
brought in to fuel our fires.  
Now the rain pummels in endless drops
forming ever bigger puddles,  
flooding dreams gone to seed.  

Perspectives collide,
this is my way of life
even when it becomes bland and unsettling.  
All the icing on the cake has washed away
why cling to ghosts with their warm persuasive kisses
in the poetry of moonlight?  
Now the fire has burned out, leaving me cold
with only the ghosts who slide through end of day.
Alyson Lie Oct 2015
The way a devoted fan
refuses to wash the hand
touched by the one they admire,

I recoil at the thought
of thoughts that may interfere
with our most recent talk,

close my eyes so no new images hide
the sight of your smile, your lips
pursed in thought, your thin fingers
brushing the wind-blown hair
from your face, your leopard print
sneakers, your hands in mine....
Or was it mine in yours?

This is the dreaded foretaste
of suffering. We both know
what harm can come
from holding on too tightly.
We have learned by now
that all things are impermanent.
Nothing, not even this,
should be clung to.

We have wisdom
on our side, you and I,
and this is why we
should survive this unsettling
flood of love we feel.
Scurry hurry
Shaking hands shaped by worry
tie the knot of plastic
A bubble home for the hard green cup
where brown and white
mixed lay married.

Wash rush
Dainty legs in dark blue denim
hasn't time to be romantic
A worn out sister played by hope
shuts the door panting.

  It clings to a robust tree
  head hidden under rosy pink    
  protective shield
  edged in yellow

  The fireflies

  
Sticky webs of empty lies packaged in boxes of deception by the wizard that doesn't work
sit dead on the small bedside table
like the results they provide.

Boxes and boxes of cozy containers
and cards of capsules
47 I counted them
current and extras
They choke my sight
then I am groped by the smooth blue robes worn by the youthful shepherd
posing aside a grey rock looking yonder
into the distance as insta-natural as possible in a pastel painted picture framed in wood against the wall.
  
  Unstable molecules in tiny airtubes,  
  many, breakdown and explode
  like little landmines
  A bio-luminescent lit ***** assaults a  
  dense night flashing brilliant
  to find a mate
  Six strong neon-green throbbing blinks
  Six slow seconds of unimaginable
  wordless dreamless dark.

  are bright.

  
I turn my head
The whole unsettling mass of reality
is torn apart into vibrant colorful morsels,
then reassembled
as my eyes  
settle
on

Her

"Oh God, if you're here, heal her now
and you'll have me. Show me what those confident tongues so eagerly confess.
Please!"

NOTHING
Another sticky empty square
covered in thick black-strap molasses
slapped to the face of the fool
who likes sweet things.

BUT

What happened to the omni-this, omni-that CEO of God enterprises?
"Go on Death" is what that means
"Go on Death do your job" is what it does

"It's your time.
It's to test your faith.
Gods plan."
All slogans for the man
who believes and dies.
  Culture creates the fool
  Hope keeps the fool
  Belief kills the fool
Thanks for doing what all those boxes
and all the pictures
on all the walls of the world do

FOOL

Her face,
a gaunt kind of skin-to-bone sight
a bad flavor
like a meal with no taste

Her mouth,
*****-lipped, framed by dry
delivers deadly blows to a heaving chest
that says; "Give me air"
yet lungs say no

Anguish,
is ****** from the pit of my cold stomach
then up through the spirit of a warm heart
I plaster the feeling in the shape of water.
My eyes puddle

I weep

It sticks

Love,

Falls

Fluttering as a twinkle
through soft beams of sunlight,
the drop glistens
plops
then dies
on the pink and blue checkered blanket.

All I have to offer are busky palms
to soothe this battered body
before you are torn apart by what
puts things like us together.

I swallow her frame

Her calf - bone

Squeeze and move

Her thigh,
my hand wraps completely
pinching a sausage sized piece of muscle
not big enough to walk
between plump thumb
and meaty middle

Squeeze and move

Her hip bone is angular
It fits flush in my hand
like the hard front peak of a cricket cap
when held above the grid

Squeeze and move

My chunky tentacles massage over
wire-thin barely blue throbless veins
that decorate her meatless paws
and twig-like fingers.

Squeeze and move
  
  It's after midnight
  Thick curds of desperation push
  again, through a splendid backside
  a special toosh
  slogging a dancing night-fever
  to beat the two-to-four,
  a beam as bright as a green day
  cuts through the black pitch of night

  

I hold her hand
A thin filling between two slices of mine
I look at her eyes and turn away

Have you ever been pulled from the center of  your heart, ripped head first through the narrow ***** of your own chest, tossed aside like a skin-sheet onto a concrete glass-covered floor then squashed beneath the majesty of a billion dancing floor-clapping feet attached to a shapeless void shapeshifting as slideshows  between all things gone, here, and still to come, stopping on the body of a small blue boy that sings in ghostly echo;
"Don't turn away from this.
Look till you see me through the eyes of another because this too
will happen to you
Clap clap clap clap!
I'm coming for you.

Trapped in a square tunnel made of brick, walls wide enough for one bus no brakes to speed through, no escape,
I accept what will squash me
I Face it
I Stand before it

I stare at her eyes staring back at me
A deep dagger stare
Two parts steel
meshed
until there is only steel
It melts

I simmer the room in soft whisper;
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
I hold her hand,
patting the top as I warm the bottom
I smile for her, at me
I smile back, as me
  
  A skillful mimic
  Here I come
  I have light and breath
  I see yours
  I come at night
  Not for genes or ***
  I hunt and gut
  Hawking down I come as death

  
The gaps between her labored breaths become bigger and for a second I drift at the sight reappearing on the sandy dunes of an empty dessert space pushed by a dying wind I can barely feel.

A sharp salty tang toils the tip of my tongue and brings me back to her.

Her eyes

They have changed

Open

But

Soul

   less

     Soulless

     Desolate

   Like

That dessert

And that place where


*The Fireflies Lose their Light
Wade Redfearn Jul 2018
It isn't like that.
It isn't a left turn too early,
a lark awake at night,
thick brown light in an open field;
unpredictable: a bad or counter-miracle.
It is only wanton.

You know how it is
Suddenly, something trapped between your toes:
the world has a strangled voice, it is
unroofed. You want the comfort of normal walls,
normal light, normal noise; in your hand
is a hot brand you'd halfway use
to smith it back together
and halfway swallow.
I had different plans for this vacation
than destruction.

I had plans. You had plans. The earth
planned its axial tilt; the weather planned
its burning; we put aside too little water.
A few plants were familiar -
pinon pine I remembered from the placard
that explained its yen for standing alone.
One lonesuch tree that made a little niche
and defied anything. Now dead, too.
How we thought we could fare better, I cannot say.

Ten feet up by one hundred feet over:
one liter water per mile climbed:
fatigue, fatigue.
The quiet supremacy of all these rules for living like
transit/occultation
refraction/darkness
exertion
hunger
and the peristalsis pulling down
huge loads of sunlight
into the ***** gully
like bread and meat.

If blood I am, then what kind of blood?
Unsettled and unsettling. The circulatory system
has an apt name: sometimes I can feel yesterday's blood
in the same neurons, saying the same thing.
I have no choice but to repeat it.
Time sheds its significance.
I have no continuity:
I have rhythms.

Erosion: isn't that what made these furrows?
I beg it to unmake me
flat like a seabed and many fathoms green
where the sun will never reach me.

In the penumbra of your anger
I do not fear dying,
only dying unacquitted:
heights are all the same.
They would all break me and none would.
The grasshoppers and gecko hatchlings
all die in their way, rubbed against the hot dry dust.
Parched, I gnash my chipped stone teeth
and tongue of chaparral - I am making
a song that says
die with me
but smile at me.

Then I see it through flashes of temper,
frame by frame, like a fingertip behind a pinwheel:
a dream of something abstract that is also true.
Dreams of freedom alongside dreams of dying.
Ms Noma Jul 2018
I feel purposeless
I feel empty
There's a restlessness
Inside of me
My brain is fluttering
It's so unsettling
It's hard to focus
To find a locus
I am a child
I am a wild
I can't decide
God knows I've tried
Jibber Jabber
Pitter Patter
What is this?
My brain's amiss!
Nobody Aug 2018
What an appalling desire,
your heart beats so fast.
An unsettling ritual,
which refuses to pass.
A nagging numb need,
you must feel something;
go make yourself bleed.
Get it out, act now
you wait for the great release.
One slice turns into more,
you need it to hurt;
no one must notice,
hence the morbid allure.
You can’t stop the impulse
once the fuse is lit.
You tremble with sickly delight,
after every slit.
You’re almost done
carving your skin.
The pain seems gone,
but it won't be for long;
still for one moment,
you heard that sweet song.
Woody Aug 2018
The clock struck something
deep in the Creek, my brother
said it’s nothing, keep dreaming,
he didn’t notice the hour for
the lamp-smoke, our power
was out, you see, and all
I could hear was the roiling
water of the storm, the unsettling
wind on the roof, like kettles
filled with boiling red men,
they were all grinning
and talking precisely, like
the foot of a newborn, or
stripes on a snake, marveling
at the grace, the ***** form
of my father’s guitar playing
the blues like only the dark
clouds before morning can do.
everly Aug 2017
Her teeth as white as my mothers porcelain doll
and itty bitty *******
with a rear that was particularly
grandiose
it was unsettling
yet her tan lines were
extra crucial.
Her thighs
the type you could use
as earmuffs
year round.
She had ******* of a dancer
Petite yet fitting her stature.
i miss her golden brown eyes that'd
glisten
and even when i’d be looking into the sunset
her pupils would still dilate when
looking at me.
just trying to change things up 8)
Hillary Magee Jul 2017
How fair and lovely  
This woman must be  
Adorned in the sea  
Of an ivory truth.  
She lends her hand  
To the most powerful man  
She will ever know.  
  
She denies him, however,  
With attention at her feet,  
Yet  
His eyes are set  
Regardless of where  
Hers linger.  
He longs to know,  
What is encased inside such a  
Fair, young and beautiful mind.  
So, he stares  
Intently.  
He stares,  
Desperately
In search of affirmation of her
Truth.  
In need of the possibility  
Of her potential  
To be everything he has  
Envisioned.  
Such a promising, vibrant,
Youthful maiden  
Aware of her power,  
Aware of her persuasion,  
Aware of his weakness,  
Looks away.  
Aware of her plans and her  
Secrets,  
She looks away.  
Yet his eyes stay upon her,  
Set like the fires of **** that  
Await her.  
A man so noble  
With a kingdom so mighty  
Lives with the unknowing  
Unsettling,  
Frightening possibility of  
Betrayal.  
He is the poorest man  
In the world.
This poem was written in 2012 at CCBC of Essex during my freshman year of college.  Creative Writing was my favorite class of a really great semester with my two friends, Bekah and Taylor. We had an awesome Professor, Professor Bognanni. On a trip to see my brother in Seattle I found a copy of The Tudors in one of his bedrooms. I fell in love with the storyline of Henry VIII and his six wives, particularly Anne Boleyn. Back at school I wrote this poem on a whim and submitted it for grading. To my surprise it was published in our Lit Mag. A piece by Taylor was also published and I still have a copy all these years later. Love writing.
I find it very difficult
To differentiate some things
Is it me or just my depression
Do I want to get better
Or just be who I am
Do I smile for everyone
Because anything else
Is more unsettling
Because everything else
Requires some explaining
Am I getting better
Or am I just fitting in
Do I need help
Or just acceptance
Am I fighting it
Or am I denying it
I am confused
Because of this conflict
It feels too complicated
To simply comprehend
Do I even want answers
To these questions
My spine tingles and my bones grow weak
I get the chills from every creak
Even the faintest noise makes my heart jump
Faster and faster my heart does pump.

The feeling I speak about is the feeling of fear
It makes reality become quite unclear
They say the only thing to fear is fear itself
But I swear that doll jumped off the shelf.

I have the feeling I’m no longer alone
From the basement I hear a dreadful moan,
Quite unsettling this feeling can be
When I feel there’s someone watching over me
Mysterious like a shot in the dark
Stabs a knife right through the heart
Once you find it run quick turn on the light
While you and your conscious put up a fight.

Trying to figure out what’s real and what’s imagination
My heart’s constant pounding won’t help my frustration
As noises comes closer I don’t linger
But my body freezes from my toes to my fingers,
Frozen still yet ready to run
Tears fall slowly like the setting sun
I fall to the floor and pray that it’s all a dream
No sooner I finish than I echo a scream.
The room races round and round
So dizzy I can’t find the ground
Its’ gotten into my mind and now I’m out of control
It haunts my thoughts and my soul.
Could this be it, could it be the end
Is my demise just around the bend?
Then the garage opens and the car drives in
A relived breath utters, “Fear had me again”.
Read more at http://******-in-oncology
Dani Oct 2018
A dream once brought to me
Beautiful and sweet
Tender touches of love
Coexisting, together two bodies high above
Happiness and beauty wrapped around
We were tangle in it entirely bound
A dream once brought to me
Instead turned dark, how can this be?

A nightmare suddenly broke a tremendous light
A face above me now evil, causing much fright
Holding down my fight
Screams muffled by your hand so tight
Pressed against me without tender touches of light

Happiness and beauty no longer in sight
Instead held captive by chains of despair
I stare over my own body tortured, oh what fright
As demons grew around me laughing at my fear
Hard and unsettling with an ice cold heart
You pressed your hot skin to mine
It burned and welted, forever scarred
The nightmares end is lost without time

Shadows cast, screams stopped
Outside myself, scream inside, fight within
Nothing more to do, I laid still and watched
Done and gone, I think not
Replay upon replay, night after night
I dream of only what nightmares taught
And watch myself fight

Never winning over such despair
So sleep is my new found fear
While I never experienced such a terror that this. I know some who have. I have experienced when someone you trust breaks that trust by betraying and hurting you after consent of the initial act.
Kim Dec 2018
Not those who don't write poetry themselves
But those whose souls aren't stirred by
The pleasant and slightly unsettling fragrance of fresh earth
The cold enveloping light of the moon
The delicious warmth of a light breeze on a hot summer's day

And when I say stirred I don't just mean any passing feeling
I mean that joyful painful yearning from the bottom of your soul that spreads through your whole being and consumes you for that moment however brief - of spiritual bliss, if you will.

And when it passes, you are not the same you from a few seconds or minutes ago

You are the earth,
the moon, the breeze
The pain, the joy
The moment.
Do you ever feel that the others can never really see or feel you the way an artist can?
Graff1980 Oct 2018
The bright white headlights
pierced the quiet night sky,
catching the hazel eyed
strange passerby,

the unsuspecting figure
who was crossing the road
by the beautiful pathway
that lay straight next to
a perfect beach view.

There, solid metal struck
with an unsettling thud,
the fleshy form
of that adolescent.

As expected
when metal meets
meaty flesh,
that young man flew
if just for a second or two,
then tripped over the side rail
and fell.

The driver accelerated
moving quickly away
not wanting to face
the consequences
of this crash,

while further down
on wet and sandy ground
a human being
struggled to move
in hopes of being seen,
and saved.

Each breath agony,
persisting only in the hopes of living,
but never found salvation’s answer.
His fingertips are doused in gasoline,
to set fire to everything he sees.
Each object he touches,
all the memories collected,
ash away and fall to crimes.
He's got eternal flames inside him,
and yet his eyes remain dimmed and odd.
He's fragile and fractured,
and as his last heart string crackled,
you could see the hope unlit.
Fires and unsettling dreams,
are all he even seems to remember.
He might try and set his body ablaze,
to calmly dry off that crying pain,
sadly sticks and stones withhold his embers.
He won't die, but he can't learn,
the anguish manipulated to feed a burn.
His life was hanging in a balance of dry anger,
rather the deployment of washing hurt again,
he thought would dehydrate its annual return-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
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